


Love's Not Time's Fool Part I Ch. 8

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"These are the times that try men's souls."<br/>One year post 513</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Not Time's Fool Part I Ch. 8

_     _

**Those things that strike the senses outweigh things which, although they may be more important, do not strike them directly.** _F._ _Bacon_

 

         Justin’s skin tingled—with life. He had forgotten the sensation. Like an unused and discarded appliance plugged into an electric socket, his heart surged with a hard thump, beating so fast he had to make a conscious effort to slow his breathing. But it didn't work. The air he drew in was filled with _him._

                         _“Needles at your nerve ends crawl like spiders on your skin. Pounding in your temples like a surge of adrenaline.”_ _©Rush_

                                                                                                               * * *       

         Sofia noticed. Although they were embroiled in a debate with an arrogant critic about the impact of environment on aesthetics, astute honey-brown eyes caught the imperceptible tremor. When she glanced toward the front door, their color darkened to mahogany.                                                                                                 

                                                          _“You walked in to the party like you were walking onto a yacht.”_ _©C.Simon_

        The suave and sophisticated man poised at the entrance oozed confidence from every pore. Posed like a GQ model, he stood in the beam of an overhead spotlight, the lapels of his expertly tailored jacket glinting in its rays. The color of his suit first appeared to be an elegant black. But a meticulously sewn criss-crossed weave of red and blue turned the rich fabric a subtle, iridescent navy, depending on movement or light.

                                                                                                
  
        Appreciative eyes of both sexes traveled along his striking form, drinking in the classically sculpted face with eyelashes like paintbrushes down to the body that rivaled Michaelangelo’s David. Women ogled openly and men glared enviously at his fashionable style and stunning good looks.

                                                                                                             * * *

        With a distinct lack of interest, Brian ignored the scrutiny for once and instead focused on selecting a glass of wine from a waiter’s proffered tray. He took a reflective sip. In the past, he would have been more than eager to sample one side of the inviting menu. But not now. There was only one person his body hungered for.

        He scanned the room with feigned nonchalance, yet his gaze had the accuracy of a rifle scope as it swept through various groups. When he pinpointed him, some weird vibe or sixth sense must have alerted Justin to his presence. In the middle of speaking, he paused and gave an infinitesimal shake of his head as if irked by a pesky fly.                                                                                           
                                                                                                     
        Despite his outward composure, the longer he stared, the more his blood sizzled. He couldn’t look at Justin’s mouth without remembering kissing it or at his legs without remembering the grip of his thighs. It took all of his willpower not give in to a bizarre fantasy of throwing him over his shoulder, locking him in a tower, and endlessly ravishing him. His restraint rapidly shredding, he drained his glass, grabbed another, and started through the crowd.

JUSTIN:

 I’m scared shitless, just like that first night. Why do I feel seventeen again? I know he’s here. I sense it. What the fuck am I going to say? Nothing, that’s what! Because my stomach rocketed into my throat. As much as I wanted him here, I’m not sure I can do this, at least not in public. Christ, it’s hot. God, please don’t let me pass out! I can’t embarrass myself in front of all these people. I don’t, I just....

 _“When you don’t expect it, that’s when he appears licking your ear.”_ _©Wilson/Ennis_

        But a hand on my back and a whispered “hey” in my ear jerks me back from the edge of ignominy. I tense at the physical contact. Can’t help it, it’s instinctive. Guess wrenching away would be undignified. So would jumping his bones, I suppose. What’s weird is that I’m also more relaxed than I’ve been in months. Shit! My body doesn’t know how to react to him.

        His subtle puff of air on my cheek raises the hairs on my arms. They obediently stand at attention as the scent of cigarettes and Beam propels me into past multiple universes. I hate that I have to fight for control. I should be past this. Fuck!

BRIAN:

        He’s skittish. Nearly leaped out of his skin. I don't want him to feel trapped, but I need, _have_ to touch him. I drape a casual hand on his shoulder in what I hope comes across as non-threatening. The wave nearly knocks me off my feet. When he doesn’t scream and break my arm, I let out a grateful sigh and soak in his heat through the cool linen.  
_  
                  “I feel the earth move under my feet. I feel the sky tumbling down. I feel my heart start to tremblin’ whenever you’re around.” _ _©C.King_

        A slow turn, and he blinks like he’s seen a ghost. Maybe he has. I take a good look at him. There’s a harder edge, the kind that comes from living alone, from _being_ alone. It’s the one that has you checking over your shoulder because you’re all you’ve got. Because you have no one. Not even me.

                                                                                                         
        Bloodshot eyes and dark circles give a hint of the story I know he doesn’t want told. I’m not sure I’d want to hear it. I know the villain too well. I reach out and run my thumb along his cheekbone. “Don't you ever sleep?”                                         
      
      “Of course!”

       He studies the floor _,_ flustered because I noticed and because he knows his answer is bullshit.  
                                                                                                 
        My finger won’t leave his face. I don’t want to break the connection. It’s been too fucking long. I tilt his chin so he can’t avoid looking at me and feel an instant rush of panic at his wariness. I have to put him at ease, lighten the mood. My tongue works its way into my cheek. “So, how’s it going? Having a busy night?”

JUSTIN:

 _“I am returning the echo of a point in time. I am the echo of your past.”_ _©Petrucci,Portnoy,Myung_

        I’ve fallen into a time warp. His words rumble through me like a runaway freight train, smashing through and cracking open memory crypts with the force of a supercollider. Buried ghosts rise up from my mental graveyard and do a happy dance in my head with a kaleidoscope of images. Because that voice is their favorite song.

       The mental picture calms me enough to let a small grin escape. “Busy doesn’t begin to describe it.”

      “How are you doing with all this?”

       He’s concerned. I can tell by the way his teeth grab his lower lip. But he’s also uncomfortable. Like me. There isn’t a guidebook for this, and it’s certainly not covered in the Brian Kinney Handbook. “I’m happy. Excited and anxious, but happy.”

       The two of us trying to make conversation is the epitome of an oxymoron. Not that we—okay, Brian—could ever be described as garrulous, but we almost got married for fuck sake! And yet, we’re talking like mere acquaintances, with nothing in common other than the weather.

 __ **Nothing is stranger than a relationship between two people who are compelled to keep up the pose of indifferent strangers, either out of etiquette or their own whim.** _ T.Mann _

SOFIA:      

        You don’t have to be an expert in body language to see they’re nervous. Whatever happened between them was so intense, it affected both at a cellular, almost metaphysical level.

        Justin has never divulged details about their relationship. In the beginning, he would give reluctant pieces of information if pressed, freely if stoned or drunk. The past few months, however, he hasn’t mentioned Brian at all. It’s as if he’s locked him up in a deep, dark place.

        I see the appeal of Brian Kinney. On the outside, he’s the ultimate smooth operator with expensive clothes, a surety of self, and an impossibly handsome face. He is a man’s man, literally and figuratively. But I hazard a guess that on the inside, he’s a man of secrets with an enigmatic something belonging only to him. He is a half moon, keeping a side of himself hidden, even from Justin. And like the mystique of an eclipse, that’s his magnetism.

       Granted, I’ve known Justin less than a year, and I don’t know Brian at all. But I do know each man is empty and needs the other to fill the blank space within. Only time will tell whether my observation has merit or is fanciful speculation

                                            **Everyone has secrets. You get parts, pieces, and different versions, but not the whole truth.**

  
       **Continue here:**<http://archiveofourown.org/works/1045737>


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